


15 Different Types of Forms

by thricetroubles



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Gen, Humor, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thricetroubles/pseuds/thricetroubles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come on, we all know that with Sam Tyler’s knowledge in investigations and criminal justice, he is uniquely equipped to get back at Gene for all his disregard for proper procedures, right? (Post-Life on Mars series, AU?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	15 Different Types of Forms

**Author's Note:**

> Title: _15 Different Types of Forms_ or, _Sam Tyler’s Grand Revenge_  
>  Disclaimer: _Life on Mars_ is the property of BBC. (Other non- _Life on Mars_ characters, i.e. DCI Bell, are also probably the properties of BBC... just from other television drama series)  
>  Warning: Non-Beta'd. And the involvement of Gene Hunt of course ensures a "colourful" use of language...

After brawling over proper procedures for the hundredth time in this week alone, Gene Hunt had enough. 

Of course, he would never openly expressed his remorse afterwards – hell, he would not even so much as to blame his own drunkenness for this! (He blamed that on Sam’s drunkenness and his inability to handle the whole mess like a man though) – but even the tough Sheriff would admit privately that he sort of regretted the moment when, in his drunken anger, he signed Sam’s transfer form and threw it at his Deputy. 

And his Deputy, being the big nancy girl that he was, stormed out of the Guv’s office then returned with his own _resignation letter_ within 15 minutes. 

 

And Gene Hunt never saw his DI in Manchester after that day.

 

Later, whenever he recalled this, Gene Hunt could never cease to be amazed by that tiny bit of detail: how could any bloke so drunk that he could not stand on his feet for more than 5 minutes manage to type a whole resignation letter within 15 minutes, with no spelling mistakes? 

Of course, Sam bloody Tyler. He must be not a bloke at all – a bird, like those secretary birds who made their living typing. No wonder why he liked paperwork _that_ much – that would be about the only thing that poofter could handle, blah! 

 

One week after Sam Tyler walked out (without even the courtesy of staying around till his resignation was approved), Gene Hunt went over to Sam’s flat with all the intention to physically demonstrate how pissed he was about this. And discovered that Sam Tyler’s flat was completely emptied – not even a truce of dust was left behind. In less than 10 seconds Gene Hunt came to the unhappy realisation that, Sam Tyler had just disappeared from his life, completely. 

One month later, Gene Hunt got a new DI. This time, it was a bloke transferred from Cardiff. Less of a loony but even more talkative than Tyler. Gene Hunt had no idea how any normal bloke could out-nag Tyler the nagging mother hen. Unbeknown to the rest of the CID, Gene Hunt developed a new hobby: he started to constantly check with his sources about the whereabouts of a certain former DI. Not that he cared about that stupid little bastard, mind you! Just that when Dorothy was still a copper he had pissed off all the big crims in Manchester, so Gene figured with Tyler out there as bait he could catch some big fish this time.

One year later, the new DI filed a request to be transferred. He didn’t state his reasons, but the entire CID (minus one DCI) knew that he was very much disheartened by the constant comparisons and reminders that he was no Tyler. This pattern of annually driving new DIs away persisted, till Gene Hunt finally gave up on asking around for Tyler 6 years later. Pretty sure that his former Deputy was now somewhere 7 feet under, dismembered and died a horrible death at the hands of some scums, Gene Hunt tore himself away from his beloved city with the remaining members of his team to transfer to London. 

 

The transfer was smooth but tiresome: closed the finished cases, tided up the remaining ones, and the new DCI and his team could follow up on their own. More than once Gene found himself missing Tyler: stupid nutter would have welcomed all these extra paperwork like Christmas presents – while Gene would rather welcome them with a bonfire. 

_Anyway, a new start._ Gene told himself when he knocked on the office door of a soon-to-be retired DCI Arthur Bell that he would be replacing in the Scotland Yard CID. 

“Ah, must be my replacement – a bit early? Hope you don’t mind, Professor. No problem? Please come in!”

Gene Hunt opened the door and got the nastiest shock of his life.

 

Sitting at the desk was a bloke he did not recognise – Gene Hunt could safely assume he was Bell then – and a bloody poofter who he could have recognised anywhere – 

“SAM TYLER YOU BASTARD!!!” He roared. Gene’s reflects kicked in: if surprised, get angry. Never show yourself to be surprised. Period. 

Sam Tyler almost jumped out of his seat with a deer in the headlight look. Which was very comical despite his rather formal appearance. Glasses and black suit and black tie? How could the bloody nancy manage to become more a nancy poofter then he was? And his reaction just confirmed to Gene Hunt that, no, he was not seeing Sam Tyler’s twin brother. 

Okay, payback time. But since Sam knew what Gene would do so, with instincts he developed to protect himself through the years, he successfully blocked the first punch. Not that Hunt missed on the second and the third attempts though. Before the fourth arrived at its intended target, DCI Bell finally managed to position himself between the two men. “Wait, wait, DCI Hunt! What are you doing?” 

“Giving one to that bloody little git there, can’t you see!? Now stand aside!”

“Wait, you mean GENE HUNT is your replacement, DCI Bell?” 

“I’m afraid so, Professor Tyler. Now, DCI Hunt, if I release you, would you sit down and talk calmly?”

“Not with the bloody bastard here! Stupid traitor! You left!!!”

“I refuse to be drawn into one of your brawls, Hunt! I am a respectable academic! And don’t you dare talking about betrayal – you transferred me!”

“You resigned you girl!!! Respectable my ass!”

 

After a chaotic hour, two DCIs, one spotting a black eye and one escaped relatively unharmed, sat in the station canteen. 

“So Professor Tyler is your former DI. But DCI Hunt, I must ask you to treat him with respect!”

“Why should I respect that coward? He did a runner! He didn’t even have the guts to fight it out like a man!”

“Please! There is enough fighting done today already! And though he is only a consultant he probably outranks us both!” Bell continued on despite Hunt’s look of horror, “I mean, the Commissioner had to literally beg – BEG! – the Vice-Chancellor of the London U. to grant Tyler this sabbatical so that he could come to train the Scotland Yard in proper procedures in investigations. And we still have to share him with the Interpol – the Commissioner will have your head if you drove him away!”

“What proper procedures?! What training?”                                    

“You mean you don’t know? Sam Tyler is the foremost figure in Criminology in UK – and possibly the world! His books are now the standard textbooks for Criminology students and new police officers, everyone in the Yard is following him religiously.” Bell grimaced, and Hunt thought that he might want to throw up. “I am too old for these new tricks myself, Hunt. His latest book on negotiations and interview techniques is not the easiest thing to swallow. But I heard that they can do wonders in investigations.”

“What!? So you are getting out of here while I… while I have to deal with all these gay-boy science and proper procedures!?” 

“Sorry, mate. And that’s not the end of it. Compulsory evening courses for all officers above the rank of DC in the station. DCI Hunt, you are in.” 

“What courses!?” 

“Human rights and criminal justice for this week. Or, to translate that for you, how you must not punch the hell out of your suspects in interviews.” The Professor sat down next to DCI Bell and as far as possible from Hunt for his personal safety. He dropped his suitcase on the table and started pulling documents out of it. 

“And I should listen to you bloody poofter because…?”

“Because the Commissioner says so,” Sam pointed at a figure entering the canteen, whom after looking around for a while started coming their way. Great. Now he somehow pissed off his higher-up on the first day of work because he punched Gladys. Great job, Gene! “After this morning’s ‘misunderstanding’ Commissioner Crane had wanted to invite us to lunch. But knowing how well you react to figures of authority I think it best that we decline. Not that he would not drop by and give us a friendly reminder now, it seems.” 

“Professor Tyler, DCI Bell and… DCI Hunt?” The Commissioner approached their table, having obviously heard about their brawl in the CID office this morning.

“Sir.” Two officers and one former officer chorused. 

“I heard that there was a slight misunderstanding this morning, I trust that now you have the time to catch up and communicate, I would not be hearing about a repeat performance in the future, gentlemen?” While the words were addressed to all presence, the Commissioner’s glare made it clear that Hunt was the sole intended audience. 

“Yes, Sir.” Gene Hunt might be the Sheriff, he was also an officer with enough years in the force to know how vital it was not to annoy your supervisor more than necessary. 

“Good! Delighted to hear that. Now, I will leave you gentlemen be – and I look forward to hearing your lecture tonight, Professor. I am sure all of my officers equally appreciate the importance of learning how to operate our future investigations with _proper procedures_.” Emphasising the last two words with a humourless smile directed at Hunt, the Commissioner matched away. “Good day to you all, gentlemen.” 

If Sam could smirk more smugly Gene Hunt would jump over the table just to knock the bloody looser out. Fortunately for Sam, he was already in his smuggest glory so there was nothing Gene Hunt could do… yet.

“And since you are joining us, _Guv_ , I took the liberty to go to my office and pick up something for you. You’d need them.” Sam arranged the papers in front of Gene with an evil smirk, and Gene thought he looked sort of like a mad scientist with his split lips and bloodied nose. “The book list for the courses. Not many books, just 5.” Sam stressed the word “5”, knowing that it would completely freak his old DCI out since he hated printed words with a passion. “Notes for the courses. You missed the first 3 weeks so I expected you to catch up on your own – not that you would anyway. And these are the samples of the new forms that you should familiarise yourself with…”

“What forms? These girly coloured paper?”

“You recall the mess you used to create in the old CID, _Guv_?” If Tyler used his title as a joke one more time Gene swore to himself that he would strangle the little bastard with his bare hands, with witness around or not. “To standardise the administrative and investigative procedures the Scotland Yard decided to issue different forms to record different stages and components of investigations, so that from the colour-code alone you should know what you are dealing with easily. Privileges for the DCIs, you know.”

“And what? You are trying to form a rainbow here, Dorothy? Aren’t there too many colours?” 

“Nope!” Sam smiled his brightest, the “I got my way in the investigations and I got the result, Guv!” smile, “Just 15. I’m sure even you could handle that, Guv. If you want, I could write a colour-code table for you to stick on your desk…?”

“15!? 15 types of forms? Are you raging mad? How the bloody hell can I finish them and go out and do some real policing, like catching scums!?”

“Nope. Gene,” Sam Tyler stood up and slowly approached Gene Hunt like the loony that he was, completed with insane laughter and another pile of paperwork that he somehow conjured into existence. From Sam’s shoulder, Gene could see that the canteen door closed on its own and all coppers in the canteen, including the Commissioner, stood up singing and dancing to some weird tones chanting “proper procedures”. Hell, even Bell followed the same girly moves and started dancing! Sam, arms flailing and mirroring the dancing coppers’ movements, just cooed sweetly and closed in on Gene.* “You must follow the _proper procedure_.” He sung, “You will never leave this station until you finish all these paperwork. Neeveeeeeeeeeeeeer~~”

“PROPER PROCEDURES…… NEVER LEAVING, NEEVEEEEEEER~~~~~~” With the choir of coppers and one university professor/soloist reaching the _grand finale_ with arms outstretched, paperwork and new rainbow-coloured forms started raining from the canteen ceiling.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…………..”

 

“……….OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” The Sheriff’s manly screams (Gene Hunt would insist it was very manly, _thank you very much_!) woke up half of the Manchester Police Station. And Gene Hunt himself dropped onto the floor from his chair like an animal wounded in a fight. A fight with paperwork, obviously.

“Guv? You alright?” Sam knocked on his office door and, without waiting for Gene’s reply, came in. The nosy git… “Nightmare? I told you not to drink and nap on the job. Why did I waste my breath on you, again?” He approached his Guv, then thought better and halted in the middle of the office because a drunken Gene was a more-violent-than-usual Gene. “And where is that paperwork that you promised me yesterday morning?”

“The great Gene Genie does not have nightmares!!! And you and your bloody precious paperwork can go to hell for all I care, Tyler!” 

Sam sighed. A sigh so deep that it seemed to have come from the bottom of his very being. “Now, Guv. What about you just sign all the paper that we needed to submit last week and I buy you a pint tonight?”

“And why are you buying me a pint? You are not going to do anything stupid, like resigning, are you?” Gene was not one to refuse free drinks, but he also knew that his Deputy would not volunteer to buy a pint unless there was some hidden agenda.

Sam smiled sheepishly. “I just got a very short paper published in a journal on Criminology. And the Manchester U. asked me if I want to be a guest lecturer in some of their evening lectures…” 

But Sam never got to finish the whole sentence. Upon hearing the very word “lecturer”, Gene Hunt did something he’d never did before in his life. He passed out. 

 

Of course, later Gene Hunt would blame his own drunkenness for this episode. Sam Tyler wasn’t quite ready to buy this explanation but eventually he just accepted it. After all, why would his Guv faint because he was going to lecture university students against drug use? And if his Guv was not drunk in the first place, why the first thing he said (repeatedly and rather desperately, if Sam dared to add) after he came around was “if I tried to transfer you away, Sam, you say ’15 types of forms’ to me. Do you hear me? ’15 types of forms’!!!...”

**Author's Note:**

> * Please imagine the hilarious performance of The Smiths’ “The Boy with a Thorn in His Side” in BBC’s _Blackpool_ (2004).


End file.
